Pomp and Circumstance
by hellcyons
Summary: At this point, Herakles was no more than a dog in Sadık's eyes, just another pretty gem for the Ottoman Empire to flaunt. But feelings aren't always as black and white as the facts. Rated M for sexual content and language.
1. Pomp

The collar was something that had grown to be a part of the self that he hated. Studded with little gold ornaments, the leather always chafed at the skin where it was tightly secured. They made the purpling bruises Sadık had left on his neck swell even more.

In the process of hating the collar, Herakles ended up hating himself and everything that he stood for.

 _"I'll be thinking of you."_

Biting down on his lip, Herakles crossed his bare legs, as if that would somehow make his erection disappear. The stuffy summer air served as a constant reminder (as if the healing scratch marks on his back weren't enough) that he had been left alone. Herakles closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He could almost recreate that one moment in his head, to the point where it was so real and all that he was missing was the physical human that should've been leaning over him.

 _"Come on, I thought you had more fight in you than that," Sadık laughed. It was almost cruel, but it retained a hint of the man's childish, mischievous nature… "Where's that ancient spirit of the Greeks?"_

"Ignoring you," Herakles muttered to himself as the recent memory in his mind faded to black. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, remembering how painfully it had throbbed when Sadık grabbed it three days ago in an attempt to elicit some sort of response from him. That son of a bitch probably just wanted someone to humiliate.

If that were the case, then he had already done that - and plenty more. What else could he want? At this point, Herakles was no more than a dog in Sadık's eyes, just another pretty gem for the Ottoman Empire to flaunt.

Sadık could never be satisfied by anything.

" _Malakas.._." Herakles muttered as he took another straggled breath. His throat was dry, his lower half ached like hell, and he felt dizzy from dehydration. It had been three days since Sadık last needed him. If Herakles wasn't needed again soon, he thought he'd die of thirst.

That would've been a better alternative than the life he lead now, anyways.

Herakles shook his head. He knew full well that Sadık only visited when he was either in the mood to tease, or in the mood to fuck out his problems. It should've been a relief to him that he had been left alone for so long. This should've been a victory, not an occasion to regret.

But no matter what Herakles told himself, he couldn't move his fingers away from his cock, and in spite of his earlier thoughts, he began to stroke himself, long and slow touches. His breath caught in his throat as his thumb ran over the head of his cock once more, this time with vigor. Images of Sadık's coarse hands entered his mind, and Herakles began to pump himself as he realised how greedy he really was. He grit his teeth and tried to keep quiet, refusing to let out sounds of satisfaction. Not in this house.

It had been three goddamn days since he heard a voice other than his own, and though he didn't want to admit it, he wanted Sadık to come back. He wanted to hear someone else speak and he wanted water to drink, above all else. Oh, there were so many things he wanted...to not be chained to the wall like a filthy animal, to have a decent meal for the first time in months, to have Sadık next to him, to feel the other man's cock shoved up his ass and making him tremble lustfully from the sheer size and thick-

A strangled moan escaped from Herakles' lips as he focused on an image of Sadık's cock. All of those that things he wanted, he couldn't get, unless a certain shitbag was in a good mood. If it meant resisting Sadık or pissing him off in some way,Herakles told himself that he could ignore his own wants.

But maybe now, he slipped up a little.

As he massaged the tip of his dick, Herakles gave his balls a tight squeeze with his other hand as he drowned himself in fantasy. He could almost feel Sadık's cock jammed down his throat, scraping against the insides of his mouth, and the effort it took every time they had sex for Herakles to not vomit in repulsion. He tilted his head back into the wall, shuddering.

After Sadık had his fun and came all over his face, the man would always laugh. Sometimes, it would even lack the childish cruelty Herakles had become so familiar with. _"Good boy,"_ Sadık would croon as cum dribbled down Herakles' eyelids, cheeks, nose, and it was then that Sadık would pat Herakles' matted hair, an action that was something akin to happiness… or affection…

Herakles tightened his grip on his cock. There was no reason to use such recollections. Adjusting his imagination, he now filled his mind with vivid pictures of the sweat soaked blankets that his face had been forced against so many times as Sadık enjoyed himself. In this fantasy, Sadık was pissed off; he wanted blood, wanted to fuck Herakles to the point where the bed creaked with every thrust and slap. Those rhythmic creaks would carry on in perfect time until Herakles finally broke, reduced to a shaking mess begging for permission to cum from his master. The thought made Herakles stiffen in bitter memory. He was alone, but he still remembered how Sadık had reacted that one time he came without asking, because he had been so lost in pleasure. Their sex had stopped so abruptly, and Sadık's voice had dropped low, a habit he had whenever he didn't get what he wanted: _"Thought I had trained my Janissary whores to be better."_ Herakles felt a chill run up his spine. The burn marks from that incident still caused his inner thighs to be stupidly sensitive.

 _"Does this make you want to cum too? I bet everything does," Sadık murmured, holding the lit candle closer until the flame was basically pressed against Herakles' skin. A familiar searing sensation clawed at his inner thighs and it travelled up in a straight line until it was near the base of his cock. Definitely a burn. The ropes tying Herakles' hands together were strained as he dug his nails into his wrists to resist the urge to hiss. He couldn't tell if his reaction was because the heat was making him hard again, or if it was because he was being mutilated. He was too afraid to move - partially due to the fact that he didn't want to seem fazed, but it mostly because he was a little scared of what else Sadık had in store._

"I hate you so fucking _much_ ," Herakles gasped. The last word cracked in his throat as he came for what felt like no reason. Cum dripped onto his shaking hands as the remaining pieces of his fantasy fell away. Almost immediately, his hunger came back full force, and with it, his anger. Here he was, starving and half dead, and his first instinct had been to jack off like he was some filthy animal. The memory of the creaking bed still rang loudly in Herakles' head as he struggled to catch his breath.

A filthy animal. That's all he really was now, wasn't he? He clenched his fists and let out a long sigh. Something pricked at his eyes and he could feel them get watery. This would've been the first time he had cried in years, the first time he had ever cried while being here. The creaking noise became a scream of sorts, deafening his ears as he sat in his self pity. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the creaks whispering to him, telling him to apologise to Sadık and run back into his arms like a bitch.

But there was no reason for him to cry. He was stronger than Sadık, Herakles told himself. This wouldn't be how he died, after years of existence and war. He wouldn't give Sadık the goddamn pleasure.

It was then that the creaking suddenly subsided. The world inside of Herakles' mind melted away, replaced by a slow, deliberate clap coming from his right.

Herakles froze up for a moment before forcing himself to muster a neutral face, devoid of the disdain that threatened to overwhelm him then and there. There was no embarrassment or anger left inside of him. Only bitterness.

"Nice show." Sadık's amused voice floated through the humid air of the tiny room, and Herakles heard footsteps approach him. The new smell of spices and sweet oils felt oddly out of place in a room that reeked of sweat and sex.

For the first time in half an hour or so, Herakles opened his eyes to the reality around him, only to see the face he despised most smiling -that childish, cruel smile- down at his current state of misery. Out of habit, Herakles bared his teeth to show the Turk he wasn't interested. All that achieved was that it invited Sadık to come closer, until his lips could kiss Herakles' dirty face.

"You shouldn't frown so much. It doesn't suit you." Rough stubble brushed against Herakles' cheek as Sadık spoke in an almost kindly manner. The next time he opened his mouth, however, his tone had changed to one that Herakles was all too familiar with. "Could be using that pretty mouth for something else."

"Fuck off," came Herakles' disjointed reply as he cooly met Sadık's eyes, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to figure out how he should react in situations like this. For this specific scenario, Herakles quickly concluded that if there had been no threat of repercussions, he should've spat in Sadık's face. His rage however, had died with the high from his orgasm.

"Mhm, I'll consider it. Open your mouth first." Here, Sadık looked at him expectantly, bearing a wicked grin. Herakles hated him for that. He hated him so much, not just because he knew how smug Sadık was about all this, but because he knew that his own body would betray him and obey.

His mouth ended up opening, just a bit hesitant, tongue pushed against his bottom teeth as he struggled onto his knees to await the inevitable. Three days was just three days too long. Herakles kept his eyes on Sadık as the other man loosened his pants and guided his half-erect cock to Herakles' face.

"Were you thinking about me?" Sadık asked in a honeyed voice. He let out a sharp intake of breath when Herakles' mouth closed around his dick - much to the surprise of both men - and started to compliantly suck. Herakles nodded in response of the question, feeling his throat expand as he did. It wasn't as if he could've answered otherwise, unless he wanted to take a knee to the face. He lifted his chin so he could continue to look at Sadık and express how he felt through a series of half-hearted glares. Sadık wasn't even paying attention to him.

"That's a good boy…" Sadık moaned, grabbing at his hair and forcing Herakles' face further onto his dick. Between dehydration and the having a cock stuffed in his throat, Herakles felt as if he would pass out. Beginning to tremble, he continued to suck sloppily, moving his tongue for added effects every so often as Sadık's approving face flickered in and out of focus. Saliva was running down Herakles' throat and onto his knees, but had he tried to swallow any of it, he probably would've died right there from cock asphyxiation. If that was even a fucking thing.

To his own disgust, he realised he was getting hard again. Already.

"Mhm, you have beautiful lips. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Herakles shook his head in response, his rhythm faltering as he did so. The question was one of the many strange ones that Sadık liked to ask at the worst times possible. Absurdity was just something Sadık liked to occasionally toy with during sex.

As if in reply to Herakles' mental complaints, Sadık began to rock back and forth, fucking his mouth slowly. Herakles could feel his teeth scrape along the sides of Sadık's cock, and his mouth struggled to stay open. All that prevented him from relaxing his jaws was the simple fact that if a bite happened, he knew there'd be hell to pay.

"Good. No one's allowed to tell you that but me."

Herakles raised his eyebrows at the words. That was a new one. Again, at a terrible time. At this point, Sadık's shoulders were hunched up, his entire body tense as he got closer and closer to coming. For the love of God and all the gods out there, Herakles couldn't understand what went on in that man's head.

So instead of expending effort on that, Herakles simply stuck to doing what he did understand - he lifted his left hand -the cum streaks of his own between his fingers barely dried- and grabbed at Sadık's balls, trying to stimulate the other man more. It wasn't for Sadık's pleasure, though. Herakles just hoped that that would distract Sadık from the truth that Herakles was pulling at his own cock now too. He wanted to cum as well, even though he knew he wouldn't in time. It just felt so good, to be so needy once again.

And so they continued like this, Sadık indulging himself and Herakles doing the same, until Sadık suddenly came in his mouth with a stifled groan. Herakles really wanted to choke then. He pulled away, gag reflex going off, and leaned back down against the stone wall for support. He was so lightheaded. If he tried to think, all he could feel was the cum that was mixing with his own spit, and since he didn't want any of that crap going down his throat, it leaked out of his mouth and trickled down his chest. He closed his eyes, exhausted for the second time that day. Surprisingly enough, Sadık didn't reprimand him for not swallowing. In fact, Sadık had been relatively silent the entire time. The only noises in the room were that of Herakles' heavy breathing, and the rustle of clothes as Sadık probably put his pants back on and got ready to carry on with his day. Like nothing had happened between them.

A vague feeling of dread settled in Herakles' chest. How long would it be now, before he was needed again? Probably a few more days, when he ended up being this desperate once more. Sadık had other boys to fuck anyways. And it wasn't as if he wanted Sadık to be here. There was no point of lying to himself, but he had kept up this facade for so many years. A few more years of lies wouldn't hurt. If he didn't lie, he might've gone crazy.

In Herakles' world, he wasn't Sadık's goddamn pet, he wasn't a traitor to his people, not a man that actually enjoyed the degrading treatment he received - he was righteously angry and bitter over what he had become, the only way anyone should've reacted.

But every part of him knew that nothing could be farther from the truth.

"You've been good today. I suppose you've earned this." The sound of footsteps away, back, and then a series of _clink_ s as Sadık placed something down next to Herakles. It only could've been a clay cup of water and a plate of whatever leftovers the Turk saw fit to spare for him. Herakles refused to acknowledge the gift. He was back to normal now, in his right mind and not polluted by lust or need. He remembered now, he hated this man. He hated everything about him. He hated his food too, even if his stomach was rumbling and his throat was sore from dick and thirst.

"Not even a 'thank you', brat?"

 _Don't act like you deserve one_ , Herakles snapped in his head. Sadık should've just left already. He had gotten everything he wanted from the visit, and it was just annoying that he continued to linger around - Herakles had to recollect himself and also fix that pesky erection he had gotten. If Sadık wasn't going to help, Herakles didn't want him around. By being present, he only reminded Herakles of what he didn't want to think about.

The less he thinked about these things, the less real it seemed to become.

There was a long silence as Herakles refused to give Sadık the pleasure of a vocal answer. Like at the end of every other visit, Sadık stood there, probably watching and waiting for Herakles to show some sign of remorse. And like every time before, there came a time where Sadık couldn't take the quiet anymore, and he knelt back down next to Herakles. He was so close that his nauseating smell of richness and luxury blocked out every other rancid odor in the room.

As per routine, Sadık spoke in hushed undertones for a few seconds about how he would miss Herakles, primarily composed of the meaningless _"I'll be thinking of you"_ that really meant _"I'll be thinking of you while I'm getting off"_. He'd finger Herakles' collarbones, neck, and finally the studded leather collar itself. After seemingly contemplating for a moment, he would get up and leave at last. Gone for a couple more days, in which Herakles would always grow angry again; angry at the collar, the life he lived now, the feelings he had, the man that imprisoned him like so; and especially, angry at how long he dwelt on the feeling of the fingers that traced his purpling bruises, as if they could provide a pitiful comfort to what had done themselves.

As if those fingers could've been warm, maybe even loving, like the soft praises Herakles had grown to live for.

* * *

 **(A/N):** _Recently, I've sparked an interest in TurGre, so I decided to try out some stuff._ _It's been a while since I uploaded, but here I am. Been busy with school, interest wandered away from the Hetalia fandom, lots of stuff happened. This may or may not be a one-shot, I've been entertaining the idea of writing a series for some time. Perhaps this will end up being a series of miscellaneous Hetalia smut fics. Who knows?_

 _Not a lot of people read my stuff but thank you to the people who do! You guys are cool and I always love your feedback!_

 _(Totally not ironic I'm writing a fanfic about Turkey around Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving, folks!)_

 _And yes, I'm going back through this story constantly to fix things about it. Don't mind me. I make a lot of mistakes and I don't edit a ton before I post, because I find it makes me lose motivation. So it will generally take a week or so until the story you read is the final one._

 _-cyon_


	2. Circumstance

For the fifth time this year, Herakles found himself in Sadık's private hamam, tying a peştamal around his waist at the slowest pace humanly imaginable. He took his time to examine the quality of the weaving, the unfittingly simple pattern, and as Herakles completed the knot, he wondered if there was some sort of meaning to the peştamal that had escaped him. Its lack of grandeur felt out of place compared to the floral designs blooming all over the bath house tiles. Simplicity had never been Sadık's style - or perhaps, the brute was too occupied with conquest to care about trivial things like bath towels, and this was just a matter of chance. Either way, Herakles was using senseless thoughts to distract himself from the real reason why he was here.

The fact that he could attempt to escape had crossed his mind earlier. As he made his way into the empty hall and down the corridor to Sadık's bedroom, Herakles ran his fingers through his cleaned hair, thinking about how soft it was now. If he tried to run away, within the hour, his hair would be speckled with grime and blood again.

The last time he actually tried to escape Sadık's home was in what...1770? Herakles winced at the memory and felt his chest heat up. It was only thirty years ago. The scar on his torso from Sadık's kilij still felt as if it could be torn open again any moment now. It was finally starting to fade, but it felt as fresh as it had nearly three decades ago.

Sadık hadn't physically wounded him in a while. That was probably the reason why Herakles didn't feel as scared of going to the man's room today, since he didn't feel like he'd end up bleeding out on Sadık's carpets - the man hadn't tried anything _that_ dumb in a years.

Making a turn into the secluded corner that hid the two gilded doors to Sadık's private quarters, Herakles realised that he felt no inclination to steel his nerves, no gut instinct that warned him against being too lax. Maybe the cold water from the hamam had numbed his senses, he thought as he knocked on the door. More likely than not, though, he was probably feeling a little cocky from how safe he had been in the past few months. As long as Herakles stayed relatively obedient and quiet, Sadık's blade would too. It was a flimsy mutual agreement that was liable to break at any moment.

But Sadık simply wasn't the type to actually fight a man unless he felt cornered. And being quite possibly the most powerful empire in the world, Herakles doubted that that happened very often.

Oh, and Sadık must've been the most deaf empire in the world too.

Herakles knocked again, this time more firmly so that the sound ended up echoing throughout the spacious halls. A muffled _thump_ was his immediate reply, followed by colourful curses in Turkish, some of which Herakles couldn't even translate.

"Just come in," Sadık's voice said after a moment. He sounded tired, with an underlying hint of welcoming, which was a safe combination for these occasions. Under Herakles' touch, the doors open soundlessly, revealing the luxuriously furnished room behind it. Lacquered cabinets and tables, stands holding gleaming porcelain, golden-hilted kilijs, and European paintings adorned the room as a strangling embrace of clutter.

"Sit down wherever." Sadık didn't look up from his papers as he spoke. One hand massaged at the skin at his forehead, while his other scribbled down words at an alarming rate. He was still in his ceremonial clothes too, as if he had just retired for the day. Had Sadık not spoken, Herakles would've thought he had entered unnoticed.

It wasn't a wide stretch to guess that sex wasn't the reason that Herakles had been called for.

"Did you need something?" Herakles asked as he made himself comfortable - far away from the bed - on one of the cushions in the room. He was still damp from the bath, and he almost wanted to ask why the hell Sadık didn't give him something to wear if they weren't going to just fuck and hit each other like usual. But Herakles was more diplomatic than that, so he settled for stretching his arms and trying to relax. The cushion was different than last time, he noticed, being a subdued green instead of bright red. Perhaps that was an omen that this today, things would be different too.

Some miracle must've occurred the last time he visited for both of them to have left the room with all their bones unbroken.

"Wanted company, I guess." Sadık shrugged. He briefly motioned at the mess of scrolls at his feet before returning to his work, papers flipping around violently as he tried to remember what he was doing. "Administration's awful. I don't get why they can't just make Selim do this crap. Eh, if I were him, I would've been tired by now too," he laughed half-jokingly, dipping his pen into the ink well.

"He's doing a lot of work himself too," came Herakles' absentminded reply as he toyed with the fringes of the cushion. Listening to Sadık discuss political matters was admittedly more difficult than just letting the man have his fun and stick his cock up Herakles' ass. Mainly because Sadık didn't seem to care about how sensitive these topics could get, and the struggle it was to stay in neutral territory. "Very dynamic man."

"Very. I worry for him sometimes."

"Hm?"

"He's gonna overwork himself with all those ideas. I don't think he can handle the implementation of all those plans on his own, but it's hard finding help from anyone these days."

"Well, you obviously don't want to assist him with administration."

At this, Sadık laughed, rich and deep, like warm music. "That's because I'd rather be doing something _actual_. Paperwork's for people with no guts to fight for a cause, so they just write out their arguments like cowards."

Amusement brought up the corners of Herakles' mouth, only because Sadık wasn't looking. Feeling slightly more confident, Herakles decided to try his luck with a small jab. "Then, according to that logic, your entire bureaucracy is made up of cowards."

"Not far from the truth," Sadık replied good-naturedly. If he knew Herakles was teasing him, he must've chosen to ignore it. "What did Socrates have to say about that? Logic, I mean. He was the guy, wasn't he?"

"Syllogism wasn't really his interest. That was Aristotle." Herakles held back a yawn and crossed his legs. He was usually napping around this time. Not even Sadık's sudden 'fascination' with philosophy (' _bullshit'_ , he had called it when they tried to talk about Plato and epistemology a couple of years back) could keep him fully awake. The room was actually quite comfortable right now, like a good spot under the sun.

He wondered how hard Sadık was trying right now to be civil. It was hot today, which was usually a catalyst for the Turk's foul moods. Herakles touched at the spot on his neck where the clasp to the collar would reside when he had it on. That was reserved for times when Sadık was furious, like he had been in the months after the Orlov Revolt. A curl of his own brown hair found its way into the space between Herakles' thumb and index finger, and he played with it as he mused upon past occurrences with great consideration.

All it took last visit to spark a fight was a simple remark on Sadık's behalf, about how he was considering a project to renovate the Hagia Sophia. Those words had put Herakles on guard as soon as they had left Sadık's mouth, and Herakles had felt something clutch at his heart then, reminding him he was supposed to hate the man in front of him.

After that, their conversation had shifted to remarks about how the mosque - Herakles had said the word _basilica_ in his mind - was a masterpiece, to a debate about who was responsible for its glory, and then finally, into the well-worn topic of the events at Constantinople that one fateful day in 1453.

Even philosophy made Herakles feel as if they were on the border of an argument concerning the importance of Greek teachings, which would undoubtedly develop into an argument about how it was Sadık's fault that the Greeks could no longer be the way they used to be. There was virtually nothing the two of them could discuss without accusations popping up. The cycle never ended: talking changed into arguing, fistfighting, and then Sadık fucking the shit out of Herakles on the bed before sending him away into some cell as further punishment.

"... _teleos_ too, but I'm not sure. I haven't had time to read lately. Francis is being a dick again, for no good reason either. Gah, I don't even want to think about that bastard. If he lays a goddamn hand on Muhammad..." Sadık put down his pen loudly at the end of his sentence for emphasis. The atmosphere in the room was beginning to shift. Herakles sat up a bit at that, pretending like he had been paying attention to the man's long tirade.

"Baths help with stress," Herakles said in the most even tone he could manage. A part of him was drifting away again, wondering where in the house Muhammad was right now. Probably in his room working on pottery to pass the long summer days. Herakles had almost forgot that the Egyptian nation was also here stranded in this suffocatingly foreign complex.

Which meant Sadık was sleeping with Muhammad. They definitely had before, and it was most likely they had more than once or twice or five times. Herakles almost wanted to know if Sadık preferred Muhammad. It was a question that was difficult and much too awkward to consider, so he dismissed it as quickly as he could. But he knew it would linger in his mind for the rest of the day.

"I should've joined you, then. We'll do that next time." Sadık picked up his pen again and resumed his writing. The atmosphere become pleasant again, and the storm that had been brewing inside of Sadık was gone, as if it had never existed.

 _We'll do that next time_. There was no room for protest, so Herakles didn't bother to try. He'd rather think about the scene anyways, details like whether or not blood would stain the tiles too badly, or how uncomfortable it'd probably be to get fucked on that floor, and the bruises that'd mark his hands and knees for days after. The idea made Herakles shift his legs uncomfortably. It had been a few days since they last slept together. He dreaded it, yes, but there was something exhilarating to it as well, something he couldn't last long without.

Sex was one of the few things that made him feel awake and alive. Herakles would've rather died than openly confess that he was addicted to being fucked by Sadık.

It took around another half hour, but Sadık eventually finished the paperwork. His achievement was heralded by a triumphant slam of the pen onto the table coupled with the sound of his hand hitting the wood and the falling of a pile of papers. Herakles stirred from his half-doze state to see Sadık already on his feet, stretching and grinning stupidly.

"Goodbye, _Jahannam_!" Sadık declared, and with a flourish, he pulled off his mask, revealing a pair of brown eyes that glowed with excitement. Herakles almost snorted at the sight. Ottoman Empire or not, Sadık was a child at heart.

Herakles' snarkiness was short-lived, though. Sadık had begun to strip off his other clothes as well, revealing a familiar toned chest. And a pair of muscular, bulky arms. And those well-defined shoulder blades.

There were things Herakles wanted to say in that moment, but the words never came out. He could only clench his fist and grab at the material of the cushion, slight motions that Sadık'd never detect. Just in case they were going to play their game again.

Sadık seemed to be thinking something different, though - the Turk was almost stark naked, but before he could achieve that state of glory, he put on a gomlek. and, after standing there for a while, donned a loose pair of trousers as well. He approached Herakles when he was done, holding another loose gomlek. Sadık chucked the clothing in the his direction, and it hit Herakles in the face.

Formalities and rituals were no part of this this, no whispered ' _thank you'_ s or ' _I love you_ 's. Quiet was the only thing that dared to breathe in the room as Herakles grudgingly accepted the gift and slipped it over his head. When his eventually face emerged from the gomlek's neckline, a warm hand was waiting there to touch his cheek. The feeling of Sadık's fingers on his skin made Herakles' erection strain against the folds of the towel. Even his own body was reminding him the real reason for the visit. Herakles stared directly into Sadık's eyes, giving the man an empty look. Of course this entire situation had been a trap. They always ended up here, didn't they?

There was nowhere else the two of them could go.

"Don't be like that," Sadık said softly, his eyebrows furrowing to express some unidentifiable emotion. He pushed back a strand of Herakles' messy hair with startling gentleness and brought his face closer for a kiss. Sadık's lips were as warm as his hands, as warm as the summer afternoon, and despite himself, Herakles leaned in for more. The moment lasted about three seconds before he forced himself to pull away, nearly wiping his mouth in disgust at the prolonged contact. Herakles looked into Sadık's eyes once more. There was bloodshed, war, raw strength surging in them, thousands of years of history. It was like looking into the eyes of a curious, powerful lion.

They might as well have continued what they started.

Grabbing at the cloth on Sadık's back, Hereakles pulled himself into the other man's lap. Of course, he made sure their erections slid against each other as he did so. One had to be tactful with people like Sadık.

"You should show me this side of you more often." With what he said and how he smiled, Sadık seemed more than interested in a fuck, but it was evident that something held him back. Herakles knew this only because the other man hadn't flipped him over and began straddling his ass in his usual excited manner. That, and Sadık's hands, which had been touching Herakles' face for an awkwardly long time, were _shaking_. It was the most subtle of shakes, but Herakles could feel them vibrate throughout his whole body. Something was terribly wrong.

"Then why'd you call me here?" Herakles asked nonchalantly. It was a rhetorical question. Another one of Aristotle's great works, but he doubted Sadık was interested.

They both knew why Herakles was here, but it sounded crass to say anything about sex at a time like this. So nothing was said at all. Herakles leaned close for another kiss, a teasing one. He bit down lightly, tugging at Sadık's lower lip, as if inviting him to join.

It was beginning to feel as if Herakles was the one who was eager for more.

"I told you. Wanted company." Sadık's tone had shifted. He returned the kiss now with renewed energy, and Herakles felt a tongue slide into his mouth. A hand was pressing on his back as well, forcing him closer, to take everything in. Playfulness urged Herakles to lightly grind against Sadık. It was well rewarded, for he felt the grip of the hands tighten on the fabric of his gomlek.

From here on, Sadık should've take off both of their clothes, and if he were in a good mood, -which seemed to be the case- he should've picked Herakles up and fucked him on the bed, finding amusement in making his partner come as many times as possible. His handjobs were better than one would may expect. That was something one only learned from experience.

If Sadık were angry, however, he would've just fucked Herakles right there, then probably against the wall, and then into the floor. They wouldn't have spoken much if that were the case, and the only communication between them would've been dirty talk or groans. Sadık might've even taken the collar out, if it was really bad.

None of that happened though - Herakles' eyes just widened as he was gingerly pushed away.

"I'm not in the mood," Sadık said, withdrawing his hand. Herakles' cheek was still warm where it had touched him. "Let's do something else."

No words were needed to express Herakles' confused annoyance as Sadık promptly picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and brought him to the bed, where he was dropped. Herakles landed on a cloud of silk sheets and embroidered cushions; Sadık landed next to him. The Turk pulled a sheet over the two of them, then pulled their bodies closer together so that Herakles' back was pinned against Sadık's sturdy chest. A disgustingly soft kiss was placed on the side of Herakles' neck, and it made him shudder quietly.

The hurt was evident in Sadık's voice as he spoke. "C'mon. It's not like I'm going to choke you or anything."

"That doesn't rule out stabbing, punching, kicking…" Herakles trailed off, and he tried to force himself to unwind. The list could go on forever, honestly. No amount of girly kisses could erase the reality that Sadık had multiple kilijs on a rack in the far corner of the room, and that given his current strength as an empire, he could probably snap Herakles' neck with his bare hands, if he so desried.

"...No hurting for tonight, then," Sadık said after a short pause, as if he had to consider the arrangement.. Herakles gave no reply. Sadık's hand had found its way under Herakles' gomlek and up his chest, slowly stroking his skin as they laid together in silence.

It would always hurt, even if Sadık intended it not to. Like now. Herakles could feel the other man's hand tracing his scars one by one, and though it was a curious, whisper of a touch, it felt as if Sadık were turning knobs and opening doors to the past every time he brushed against a line of roughened skin - the Maniot rebellions; the revolts of Dionysius the Philosopher; the sacking of Constantinople; the humiliation Herakles had felt when Sadık swept into Athens and dragged him out onto the streets, chained and tattered into the perfect image of a war trophy; it never seemed to end.

Herakles almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous jocularity of everything. Why was he lying in the arms of the man who had tortured and raped his people the way he tortured and raped Herakles? And the man's audacity, to say that he wouldn't hurt Herakles tonight. Not forever, not for years, not even for a week. Just tonight, and things would go back to being how they always were.

Sadık Adnan was just that kind of man.

"Kiss me again?" Sadık asked as he touched one of his Maniot scars.

The question made Herakles want to remain silent for longer. But he hadn't spoken in a couple of minutes now, and though he didn't owe Sadık any replies, he decided to provide one this time out of caution: "Why're you asking?"

"It's better when you start it," Sadık replied, almost too quickly. He stuttered on the first syllable of the word, if only faintly. But the little things Sadık thought he covered up, Herakles noticed them all. Scrutinising and disfiguring the image of the man that had ruled him for all these years was one of the ways Herakles had managed to scrape by with his sanity still intact.

The strangeness, the idiocracy, the _everything_ that Sadık was right now pissed Herakles off. It must've been mockery or some crude joke, this afternoon and their entire lives. Destroying the testaments to Herakles' history, stealing all the work he had done throughout the years, the mass murder of his people, they weren't enough for Sadık, it seemed. The man wanted another act submission and humiliation, a kiss. That was what this was all about.

That was this had all been leading up to.

But then, why did Sadık hold back today? Why, even after all these thoughts, did Herakles turn around to give that very same kiss he knew was wrong? And, why did he lean into it and close his eyes, as if he were content with this existence?

 _Why?_

Such rhetorical questions were certainly worthy of Aristotle himself.

* * *

 **(A/N):** _Still experimenting with this ship. I got into the Ottomans recently, and I'm not sure how I want to write my characters yet so forgive me for my lack of characterisation. I mainly wanted to see TurGre in different lights, the difference between their anger and their fluff, and it has been an interesting experiment. Any criticism would be highly appreciated, especially if it's about characterisation! Haha, I'll admit I'm a bit lost when it comes to that. I write Greece the way I wrote another character from a ship I liked before. Also 99% sure I butchered the historical context and stuff._

 _-cyon_


End file.
